Oh what is this sweet sorrow that hath burned my heart a hole? It is love, i know it true. Mine heart hath often bid my eyes awake to see you lying next to me when the sun doth wake the morning lark. Yet when my eyes doth open they meet only cold lonliness of an empty bed. My heart yearns to have my lips speak of its great affection; but my lips lie usless and say not what they need to say for the heart hath no courage to tell you it leans in your favor. It can only dream and hope that yours returns its regard. Until then it weeps for a tender touch, warm embrace, and a sweet joining of the lips; knowing that the chance is rare that this might happen. And yet it waits for it to be so.